You Promised
by SwedishIce
Summary: Oneshot: He wanted to shout at Ryou as he died, tell him the lies he had once said. But he didn't. He had another plan. He would die.


**You Promised**

**Soooo this took me far too long to write, and I don't even like it that much. Blah -_-**

**Warning: Kinda bloody, Character death, and some parts may be a little OOC**

**(Don't ask me how Bakura got a body... It was magic)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. **

Bakura sat in his bed, idly observing Ryou as he slept. He hated him. He hated him so much. Ryou was so smart, answering every one of his friends' questions with an utmost certainty that went unmatched. He always aced every test, got on every honors list, won almost every award. If Seto Kaiba didn't attend the same school, Ryou would have been the best! And then there was Bakura, always failing, sitting in the back, watching as the others stepped up to take their awards. Ryou never tried to teach him, not once. Did he thing Bakura stupid? Illiterate and impossible? Bakura was smart, but not in books. He could lead the group anywhere without trouble, and recall useless facts from the past everyone seemed to forget. But that got him nowhere, as he was constantly reminded.

Ryou's hand fell out of the bed, brushing the ground slightly. Underneath his fingertips, a picture laid perfectly flat, another reminder for Bakura. In the photo was a happy group of friends, otherwise known as Ryou, Joey, Yugi, Tea, and Tristan. Bakura's lack of friends seemed unending, while Ryou's was ever expanding. With his clean white hair and winning personality, people naturally gravitated towards him. He had a few friends Bakura was sure would last him forever, and seemed oblivious to school bullies. He was perfect. Bakura was opposite, standing almost invisibly in the back of the photo. He had no friends, as no one dared approach him. While Ryou's white hair attracted people, his seemed to repel, earning him several titles. He would shake them off; becoming the bully, but it would be short lived. No one cared.

Bakura sighed bitterly, sliding off his bed and staring at his hands. They were scarred, dirty, laddered in scratches Ryou had failed to notice. Beneath the mess was pale skin, perfectly matching with his lights. If everyone didn't know any better, the whole school would have accused them as twins. They were practically the same after all. _And yet, so different_. It made no sense to Bakura. His light was a copy of him: he _was_ him. Nonetheless, he was hated as Ryou was loved. It didn't hold any sense to it. They were the same: why was he shunned? Bakura hated it, hated Ryou, hated himself. Could no one talk to the idiot, psychotic, snowy freak?

They knew nothing of him, yet they all seemed to have a grudge against him. From the moment Ryou had convinced him to show up at the school, he was treated like an animal. Ryou's friends tried to be nice for a little, but quickly lost interest and parted ways, taking Bakura's light with them. He tried to be normal, not vicious, but it was as though everyone already knew his true self. His past. After that, he broke ties with his light, utterly alone in the school. Ryou grew distant after that, only talking to Bakura on occasion. His life had become so much better without the nuisance, and he liked it that way.

A growl slipped past his lips as Bakura was reminded of their talk. He had tried to tell Ryou about his abandonment, how he was as good as lost, but Ryou hardly listened. He broke his promise; the only reason Bakura had a body in the first place. His light had wanted to make him good: to purify him in a way. He wanted to make Bakura a person with feelings instead of just the spirit with a lust for pain. He lied, and the desire was back, but for a reason now. Before, it was a mindless hurting. Pain the sake of happiness. This time was different. Pain was a source of escape from Ryou's harsh lies.

Bakura knelt down; searching underneath his mattress for something only he knew the identity of. It was smooth against his fingertips, warm and inviting. Grinning, he pulled the knife from under its cage. It was sharp and long, glinting slightly onto Ryou's face. At first, Bakura wanted to throw it. He wanted it to sink with as much force as he could muster into his lights face. He wanted to shout at Ryou as he died, tell him the lies he had once said. But he didn't. He had another plan.

He would die.

Ryou would have to suffer with it: the responsibility of death. Bakura had it, and it crushed him just as the loneliness did. It would crush little Ryou more however, as he wasn't used to it. He was too fragile: it would shatter him the moment he figured it out. He would be abandoned by his friends for his depression, thrusting him further into Bakura's own blackness. Eventually, he would lead himself into the same situation they were both at now. Death: it was unavoidable. Bakura hoped the guilt would be too.

With movements no one could make symmetry of, Bakura brought the blade down to his arm. With precise cuts, he carved out the words that would tear his light down. He shuddered as the pain registered, flames seeming to stream as his blood did. But it felt good: it was perfect. The red washed away their similarities, giving Bakura a reason to be hated. He was dangerous now, intimidating. He liked it. The words shined red through the blood, the skin inflamed and puffy. Ryou would be disgusted. It gave him an idea.

Advancing to his lights bed, Bakura grabbed his face. Ryou blinked, sleep thick in his voice. "What are you-" He didn't get the chance to finish. Bakura, who was much stronger than Ryou, held his mouth shut. With the already red blade, he carved Ryou too. Let the world see what he was: a liar. A back stabber. Most importantly, a bad friend. With a thrashing Ryou under him, Bakura wrote his words, only jumping off after he drove each one in. His light sat bolt up, hands wiping the blood and tears from his face. "What is wrong with you?"

What was wrong with him? Bakura could have made a list. "I'm stupid. I'm alone. I'm hated. I'm surrounded by liars! And it's your fault. All yours, Ryou." Venom dribbled in his voice, hoping to get Ryou to finally understand. "You lied to me."

Ryou's eyes widened, obliviously confused. This only served to make Bakura angrier. He stepped back from the boy, admiring his work. Ryou's once flawless face was now tainted with truth. Now the world would know. Satisfied, he gazed back at his arm. "You promised."

"What in the world did I promise to? And what happened to your arm? Why does it-"

"You promised!" Bakura screamed at him. "How dare you leave me like that! You were supposed to help: to make me like you. People were supposed to except me: to not be scared of me as everyone normally is. You promised to help me! It was by your bidding that I even did it, and you make me even worse? You abandon me? I won't let you."

"I didn't," Ryou insisted, finally realizing the full extent of his slashed face. "I did none of that!"

"You did all of it. All your empty promises… But it's ok now: you don't have to leave me. I'll leave you." The words sang like a threat, hanging in the now silent air. The knife hung loosely in Bakura's hand as he shred another line under the words on his arm. "You promised." The cut stretched to his shoulder, making its way towards the face. "I can't even smile like you do," he whispered, biting the knife. "But I can fix that part." Ryou watched in astonishment as Bakura grabbed the knife from his mouth, ripping it up past the corner of his lips. A gruesome smile started to show, unable to disappear. It looked as though crevasses' had cracked into his skin. "You see! Now I'm happy, just like you! Does that make it easier Ryou? To know you didn't fail completely? I'm happy!" He was laughing now, lunacy verging on violence. "Now I can finish my side of the promise, just like how you never did for me. I'm better then you." Grabbing the hilt, he restarted the knifes travel its unknown destination. The curve slid over his collar bone, making a firm stop at his heart.

"Don't," Ryou practically begged. His brown eyes were teary, frozen in a mix of sleep and shock. Bakura took no notice to this, simply looking down at the picture laid at his feet. He was in the back, not even attempting to put on a smile. Did Ryou even know he was in the background of their little party? That he was left alone to suffer in someone else's lies? The feeling swelled in him again, dispelling the bloody warmth he was rejoicing in.

"You left me Ryou. Now, I'll leave you." The light watched with terror as his dark plunged the knife into his skin. All metal disappeared, melting into a stream of more red. Bakura laughed, falling shakily to his knees as Ryou jumped off his bed. "Look in the mirror. You promised." His crimson eyes marked the happiness in his soul till it dulled into nothing. He was gone.

Ryou wailed, picking up the lifeless body and holding it close to him. How could he have been so selfish: so ignorant! He hadn't even realized Bakura was in so much pain until just a moment ago. It was all his fault. He cried, feeling the dripping off his chin pattering Bakura's head. His eyes were still open: the crimson looked expectant of something. This made Ryou cry harder, turning his head away. He had promised, hadn't he? He's told Bakura he would help him, and he truly did want to. At the time, that is. Once Bakura was actually a person, Ryou suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. He turned him away, just as his group of friends did. In fact, Ryou never even gave it a serious second thought. He had forgotten. _You promised_.

The words on his darks arm stuck out between the now overly flowing blood. The scratches were red, angry, and perfect: practically shouting the words at him. Blaming him. That was going to scar, to be there forever. At the wake. _You promised._ When Bakura was buried. _You promised_.Maybe, the spirit would find a way to put it on the gravestone. _You promised_. As one of his last memories. _You promised_. Ryou shook his head, frantically trying to dispel the thought from his brain. What had Bakura asked him to do again?

Remembering quickly, he stood up. Fear flooded his brain as he stumbled to the mirror with closed eyes. Honestly, he didn't want to look. Instead, he brought a hand to his face, the other supporting him on the dresser. With delicate ivory fingers, he ran his hand against the cuts. They were too clean, just as the ones on Bakura's arm had been. _They're words_, he thought with horror. His face was going to be scarred with words, sticking out like a sore thumb against his white skin. This made him even more nervous, but also curious. Tentatively, he opened his eyes.

_I lie._

_***Sigh***_** You made it to the end. Have a cookie and continue your day.**


End file.
